


Zebra Masks

by andros (raptorix)



Category: Hellenistic Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Mild Language, [12 yr old voice] heee's got a cruuush, look the point is lots of folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-20 11:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11920194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raptorix/pseuds/andros
Summary: Senior year. Welcome to the year of slacking off on schoolwork, stressing about college applications, freaking out because of your crush, and abject hell.





	1. Slight Headache

**Author's Note:**

> hey so i mixed in random versions of the names so there might be some disconnect, sorry? please lmk if you want me to add a warning in the tags; thanks, and sorry for not putting it earlier if i've missed it! also i haven't actually read tsoa, just the iliad and shit so im a dirty liar, etc etc.

Every autumn, Achilles bumps his training regimen down the tiniest bit in order to make room for school. Objectively speaking, the work isn't that difficult, and Achilles' mindset is such that he would practice to make sure it wasn't difficult anyways. But it's a matter of making time for other things that come with school, namely Patroclus.

He slows it down gradually. Today his hill-run will contain one less ascent than last week's, and tommorow his gym workout will be light. And his buds there might tease him for a little while but eventually they'll resume in silence, fully aware that they'll never reach his level. 

Achilles is the type of human that induces a strange type of nihilism in those who see him--what's the point in trying to improve if he's always ten meters ahead? At the same time, though, he shows people that the level does exist and is something they can aspire to. He's not unaware, but unsure of how to use that and whether or not using it makes him an awful person.

His tank top is covered in sweat by the time he jogs up the long driveway and fits the key into the ornate wooden door. Achilles doesn't even go past the reception area before he plops down on a Persian rug, tugging off his shoes. Peleus isn't home. Thetis doesn't live with them. In Achilles' mind, that means it's fair game to claim the plush couch in Peleus' quote-unquote "man cave" downstairs and watch Parks and Rec on the huge television in the room's dark and comfortable warmth. He drinks a smoothie--wheatgrass, agave nectar, spinach, some protein powder, and a few other little ingredients for maximum health.

The sound of the garage door rattling open breaks through Tom's on-screen monologue. Achilles turns up the volume and then casts aside the remote. Still, he can hear the sound of some violin concerto (pretentious, Achilles always snorted) floating through Peleus' constantly opened windows. Peleus passes by him on his way to his home office. The diplomat lifestyle gave both grandiosity and wealth to afford good things but took the time needed to enjoy them. 

Achilles sighs, long and deep as the dying wind. He switches off the TV, comically cutting off Ron mid-sentence and heading upstairs to pull out his summer reading book.

There are ten days until school starts again. Logically, Achilles should split it up like this: three days to read _Cat's Cradle_ , and six to finish the writings, with one last day to look them over if necessary, which is still pushing it. But Patroclus is back in town on the 28th, so if he wants to hang out, there's only one day for that. He's not entirely sure if Patroclus even _wants_ to hang out, because Achilles has been checking his phone like the Energizer bunny on Monster and the only text he'd gotten from (and eagerly replied to) was a very generic _Have a good summer!_  

Achilles pouts a little bit at the memory.

Unearthing the book from under a pile of magazines and papers on his desk, Achilles reads over the accompanying instructions packet for the first time since the beginning of summer. The words don't seem to flow right from his eyes to his brain like they normally do, though. He has to read each terse line at least twice before he properly understands it. Though it's difficult, Achilles should keep going, on pain of a prospective all-nighter right before school. But Achilles is all about doing the impossible, so he sets aside the work and sits back, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. On his nightstand his phone lies quietly, a dangerous invitation to a liaison from which he might not ever wish to escape.

He accepts, scrolling through Instagram and hating every minute of it. Just to spite everyone, the app included, Achilles musses up his hair a little bit, bites his lips some, tugs the collar of his tank, and takes a selfie that comes as close to perfection as anything ever has. The contrast he adjusts in the Photos app so that the light hitting his hair makes it glow like fire and posts it with no caption, feeling vindictively happy. 

He doesn't mean to make others feel awful about themselves, except when he does.

The likes start raining in about thirty seconds later, from random people Achilles' never met and who've never met him but who follow him for some reason he doesn't know. (He knows.)

Soon enough, someone Achilles is actually acquainted with comments. From there it's just a matter of some digging through notifications to find others:

 **deidameia.** xoxo, babe!

 **youknowdio** hey he's back, what's good bro?

 **notacarmedon** lol unfair let us take good pics someday too

and one comment that makes his treacherous, treacherous heart leap a little:

 **whatsthatpat** <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im bad at writing long things so chp 2 is bein posted right now whoop thanks mates


	2. Night Lights in Ranger-Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of firsts. Not the romantic kind, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so i started writing this really fckin late at night so it's very dramatic and strange. i feel like it gets more normal a few paragraphs or so in but sorry bout that  
> criticism and feedback are always appreciated! and please let me know if there are any tags or warnings you believe i should add! thanks!

_Let's go back, yeah? Two years ago should suffice._

Danger. Oh, it's _so_ scandalous. This tiny moving picture on Achilles' phone will be the death of him, if his dad finds out, but he feels like he's being born again. 

Right. The video. Curiosity had gotten the better of him when he'd seen the thumbnail. Achilles is no cat, but _something's_ clawing inside of him, trying to escape his chest, his stomach, his innards.

He closes the window, the app, the phone and grins as Patroclus approaches.

"Mmm, how's my favorite long-distance runner?"

"Is there really any competition, though? Diomedes is the second best on the entire team, but I could, like, beat him in his own event on two hours of sleep if I wanted to."

"Wow, humble," Patroclus replies fondly. "And you could do it on one." 

"You're the reason I have no humility. You're awful." They began the walk up a flight of stairs in the direction of their shared Econ class. The only factor that mitigated what a sheer bastard they had for a teacher was each other's presence. Then they'd split up, to reconvene at lunch and just before seventh period History. Achilles normally packs his own lunch, but it's optional off-campus so he and Patroclus walk down to some fast-food place and Patroclus order something cheap. He got pocket money for the meal by working late shifts at Burger King, which is the only restaurant they ever avoid. Patroclus, like many teens, favors Taco Bell.

Achilles asks him: "Don't you think it's a bit funny that you work at a greasy fast food restaurant only to get money for food at more greasy fast food restaurants?" An idle question, sure, but a pressing one all the same. 

Thinking about it for a moment, Patroclus stops walking in the midst of a forest of lockers. Passing time is limited, so other students jostle the two of them carelessly in a frantic bid to deposit one textbook and pick up the next, or head to the bathroom. "I guess it's just my typical teenage rebellion phase, you know? Like, Dad offered to get someone to make me lunch or something, or to give me money. But I don't really need it, you know? And I don't think I really _deserve_ it either, so," a casual shrug indicates the end of his thought.

From what seems to Achilles as far off in the distance, the warning bell rings. They still haven't started moving again. "Of course you fucking deserve it. But I get it, so."

The slight tension that had been brewing slowly like Mountain Dew in the sun getting ready to blow dies down as Patroclus grins widely. He claps a hand on Achilles' shoulder. "What do we say we hit DQ today? I'll get you a Blizzard, if you like."

Achilles considers this. Then he considers the lunch he'd painstakingly made, sitting in his designer knapsack. It has a blueberry-acai-green tea smoothie, bell peppers, strawberries, and a really fucking nice sandwich. If he takes Patroclus' offer, best case scenario he would most certainly wind up with an expired meal at the end of the day. At worst, it might stink up his bag.

Of course, this is completely negated by the thought of a nice cotton candy Blizzard (Achilles can take a cheat day every now and then), sitting down at a booth with Patroclus. He accepts.

_Those're the important details; the rest can come as they must. I think that's enough for now. Let's hop in the DeLorean, head back to the future._

On the first day of school, Achilles spots a familiar head of dark curls from behind and runs to catch up, bag bouncing on his back. "Hey," he calls, breathless for some reason, despite his prowess as a long-distance runner. "Hey," Achilles repeats, having caught up and tugging on the sleeve of Patroclus' bomber. "What's up? How was your summer?"

"Oh, Achilles! It was great, thanks. Camp was awesome, I met a bunch of cool guys there." Patroclus smiles warmly and ruffles the long, golden lion's mane that flies behind Achilles like streamers on the track.

The runner smiles hopefully. "I missed you."

"Missed you too, bud. What classes do we have together?"

Pulling out schedules, they compare schedules. The two share exactly one period, AP Lit. 

"I've heard horror stories about Alexandros," Achilles makes a face. "Menelaos and him have some beef."

Patroclus considers the AP English teacher they shared last year, and winces. The red-haired autocrat was a bit controlling, sure, but not the worst teacher.

"What's your lunch?" Achilles inquires, probably sounding way too excited for someone just catching up with a friend at the beginning of the school year. He chastises himself internally, but it doesn't really matter. The question's been asked, let Patroclus make of it what he will. 

"Well, we have the same period, but I was thinking..."

It goes without saying that on principle, Achilles doesn't like to hear 'buts' unless they come on the tail end of bad news. Of course he doesn't like what comes next.

"I'm on the verge of applying to colleges for scholarships, and this is probably something I should've started doing a long time ago, but I think I need to stop eating shitty fast food and start actually training during lunch."

_Achilles has a lot of objections to this, but he has to reply in 0.4 seconds. So I'm taking control for now, pressing pause real quick. Let's go through his main objections, one by one, before Achilles unpackages them and files through them on his jog later, steaming mad and a little disappointed._

His first objection will be the fact that Patroclus has been scouted since the beginning of his junior year, when some last-ditch growth spurts and muscle gains cemented his position as a first-string runningback. That, combined with his natural ability and drive resulted in skill that could rally any team. He's got his pick plus some on scholarships.

Secondly, Patroclus has no real reason to train at lunch in addition to after practice and on weekends; if anything, he should rest during lunch to make sure he doesn't burn out. Achilles knows a thing or two about health, and even if he didn't, Achilles has covertly asked his own private athletic trainer about Patroclus' regimen and then slyly slipped tips as recommended. At this point, there should be no need to train any harder than he is already. 

Finally, and most damningly, why wouldn't Patroclus want to spend time with Achilles? They're friends, best friends. Besides, Achilles is _popular_ and freely offering up his time. Most people would jump at the chance to be with him at least because of that. (He knows that Patroclus isn't what he'd call 'most people', as cliché as it always sounds to Achilles, but the point will stand in his bitter mind.) And it tugs at him, relentlessly so, that moment when Patroclus said that he should've started a long time ago. Maybe it's an offhand comment that Achilles will be blowing out of proportion, but did Patroclus just not enjoy spending time with him?

_And, play._

"I guess I see what you mean. If you ever wanna hit Taco Bell, though," Achilles offers up one last valiant attempt at convincing Patroclus that it's not _all_ for the best.

They're going to have to head off soon. Patroclus spares a furtive glance to the analog clock. "Look, Gov is all the way across campus," he says apologetically. Doesn't respond to Achilles' comment. Doesn't explain. "I'll see you, AP Lit." He pats Achilles' cheek quickly in farewell and whisks away.

x

Achilles is in a foul mood.

The air around him fairly crackles like a thunderstorm, broiling and shifting in a tsunami that threatens to crash down on the complex, fragile city of his emotions. One wrong step, and an innocent bystander could set off the hairpin-sensitive minefield. As a result, he's been given a 3-foot radius, as much space as the group of runners sitting at the starting point for the first-run-of-the-year can afford to give. 

The exception to this, as he is often, is Odysseus, who seems perfectly nonchalant about kneeling on the shadiest portion of the grass right next to Achilles. Technically speaking, as the starting quarterback, he should be at football practice, but the coach has all but completely deferred to the student's sense regarding athletics. Odysseus has a ridiculously complicated training syatem, but it seems to work and Odysseus has assured Achilles that it is "optimized". 

Wretchedly, Achilles plucks at the grass, wanting nothing more than some space. And maybe less space, but only in regards to one person.

"Achilles," Nestor tugs aside his star athlete before they start the course. The ancient coach himself has been running long-distance since before the majority of the teams' parents had been born. "Are you going to the second stop, or will you just be doing our route?"

"Second stop," Achilles replies firmly. "I'll meet you guys back here."

"Right. Good luck. I think we've got a good batch of freshman this year."

"You say that every year."

"And I can certainly remember a year, about three years ago, when I was right."

Achilles' dark expression softens, and Nestor smiles. "This'll be a good season, cheetah. I know it."

"Whatever, Coach." Achilles crosses his arms, but it's a fascimile of skepticism at this point. "Don't count your...your cubs before they hatch, or whatever."

"I hope that at least once this year is over you will consider calling me by my given name," Nestor prodds gently. "It isn't actually 'Coach'." 

"Sure thing, sure thing, just gimme a few months."

"Better get running, son," Nestor points in the direction of the other students, who are already jogging towards to the big hill entering the residential neighborhoods. "There's an upstart junior, wants your record for himself."

Huffing, Achilles smirks. "Bet he wants more'n that. He wants to beat it."

"That too," agrees Nestor amiably. "I don't want to see that happen in my last year of coaching, alright? So go."

Ever the dutiful pupil, Achilles jogs (though it's a solid canter to all the freshman lagging behind) and doesn't stop until he's a long ways away from the school. He tags a tree, marking it mentally, and turns back.

Left to his own devices, Achilles' previously lifted thoughts turn sour.

_We already know where that goes._

x

The first game of the season is cross-town. The damn Trojans from Ilion are raring to go, and aren't above playing dirty, but Achaea has more raw talent. Achilles might be a little bit biased when he says that to adults who have no interest in high school sports other than buddying up to the diplomat's son, but his sincerity cannot be denied. 

Cross-town is always an event. The first biting winds of fall are arriving, conflicting with the adolescent wish to cover as much of their bodies as possible with colorful, spirit-themed paint. Crowds whoop giddily with every movement on the gridiron, from a tackle to a dodge to a pass to a catch, and a post-touchdown roar from all sides was supposedly once heard from the next town over.

Achilles finds his seat next to Briseis. He and Patroclus have kind-of-sort-of made up after whatever weirdness that first day was. They sit together in AP Lit. They don't talk, despite Achilles' gradually declining attempts at conversation, but it's fine.

He hugs his sweater-covered arms to his stomach and hunches forward. 

Noticing this, Briseis remarks, "'S cold, huh?"

The audience seems to agree. Half of them are in school hoodies or have a second layer on. They stand closer to one another like very large, polychromatic penguins, trying in vain to conserve heat. Achilles looks apologetically down at his soft cable-knit jumper. "Sorry, I'm in a sweater."

She fixes him with a sharp look. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not fishing for your jacket, I was _saying_ how low the temperature is. If I wanted your jacket I'd have made sure you brought one."

"Oh."

"Did you want to give me your jacket?"

Some uncomfortable shifting. "...No."

"Well, there you go. Unreciprocated on not one but both sides, so nonexistent."

They are saved by the arrival of the marching band and the presentation of the flag. The crowd stands, waiting impatiently for the start of the game.

And what a start it is. First possession sees a touchdown from an Ilion cornerback; the Achaea Quick stamp their feet and howl in fury until a gaggle of adult administrators quiet them down. 

But Achaea always gives as good as it gets. Odysseus, a master playmaker, hands it off to--who else?--Patroclus, who makes a mad break for it, gaining the 10 for first down, plus a few yards. The quarterback hits Idomeneus, a wide receiver, who gets them nine yards away from the zone. Achilles knows a thing or two by osmosis from Patroclus but not much, and claps mutedly when Briseis does. The Quick finish off the touchdown succinctly and get the seventh point.

The game is blessedly over soon enough, and Achilles thinks over hanging back to congratulate the team on their win. In the end he decides against it, but on the walk home his phone pings in his pocket.

 **Patroclus :D**  
hey where r u

 **to: Patroclus :D**  
omw home? by the park rn

 **Patroclus :D**  
hold on wait there for a min?

 **to: Patroclus :D**  
ok

The wind blows, loud as a crowd of screaming high-schoolers at a football game against their rival. There's a bench under one of the park statues of an old town hero, and Achilles waits on it as the sky darkens, curling inwards to stay warm, waiting for Patroclus. Finally, his ratty old pickup ( _hey, you bought something other than fast food with your wages!_ ) drives by slowly. Achilles isn't above being petty and just letting him continue. But he knows that if he doesn't go now Patroclus will keep on hunting until he finds Achilles or two in the morning, whichever comes first. So he gathers his courage and his keys and phone and walks out to the truck. "Good win," he says. His tone is neutral, icy even, and if one removed the congratulatory remark it would've been more fitting for a conviction. 

"Thanks," Patroclus looks a little breathless. "You didn't come to the post-game celebration?"

"Nah. Feelin' tired, and it's getting cold."

"Jump in. I'll give you a ride, I know your place."

Achilles lets out a breath, and he can see traces of condensation. "Of course you know where my place is," he snarks as he gets in the passenger seat, but there's no  
energy to it. Rubbing his hands and warming them on the heater, Achilles finally says, "Thanks."

"No problem." 

Patroclus grins, and Achilles is struck by how carefree it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i know like nothing about football. i just looked some stuff up and tried but ech  
> also i fucked with who are teachers/students and i feel like i'm using "jumper" wrong but thank you,, , for reading, i will try to put out another chaper soOn


	3. The Fancy Kind of Cup Noodles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In addition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have zero sense of stylistic continuity and like sequencing events and rationing words but Anyways here's the third chapter! huge thanks to everyone who read and left feedback, made my day and honestly my motivation :)

_Maybe you've had falling dreams._

_Not the kind where one falls off of a cliff, but the kind where you accidentally step off the curb and experience a dropping sensation, like ballast weights in your stomach dragging you down._

_That's how Achilles feels._

_But there's a point where you'll stop sinking. Maybe it's at the bottom of the Mariana Trench; maybe you've hit a gently sloping ledge. Either way, the only way to get back on land is to climb out and go through whatever might come._

Patroclus pulls all the way up his driveway, despite Achilles' protests. "See you tomorrow?" he asks, nonchalant but maybe, possibly hopeful.

Achilles doesn't overthink it. "See you tomorrow," he smiles, returning the grin he'd gotten when he'd jumped in the passenger's seat. "Uhhh, lunch? Dairy Queen? I'll get us Blizzards," he offers, picking up and dusting off an old memory.

"Blizzards it is. See you." Patroclus rolls off and Achilles heads back inside. Blessedly, it's warm. He pads down the hall to his room and picks out a set of sleep clothes and a pair of crew socks, carting them over his arm to the bathroom. One shower later, Achilles is comfortably curled under his blankets, phone cradled in his fingers. Soon he grows tired of mindlessly playing around on it. Achilles plugs it in for charging, then turns the light off and tries to sleep.

x

Briseis has many amenable qualities. Smart, and currently ranked first in her class; witty, once she gets to know you; and certainly very lovely, with mahogany skin and the curliest hair. But she has limited patience, and can only take so much of her friend hunched over his desk, his head on his arms.

"Patroclus, I understand that you're tired, but please sit up," she sighs under her breath to the miserable teen. "Look, you're going to miss like half the notes and I don't want to have to give you mine to copy."

In response, he shifts his head a little bit. That won't do. 

"Come _on,_ at least tell me what happened to tire you out like this."

"Uh, next class. We have dissection, right? In AP Bio?"

"Alright." Briseis turns back to her notes, hastily copying down what she'd missed while talking to Patroclus.

"Spill," she commands once they're in the hall. Patroclus shifts uneasily, but realizes it's futile to hold back.

"Well, uh, remember on Friday? The game? Well after it there was gonna be a party at one of the guy's house and I kinda wanted to go but then I figured out that I hadn't seen Achilles anywhere--"

"He was watching, with me," says Briseis. She waves her hand. "Continue."

"Oh! Thanks, I didn't find him." Patroclus smiles gratefully and goes on. "Well, I texted him, and he said he was walking back home, and I thought it was kinda cold, so I asked him where he was and picked him up."

Briseis makes the universal hand motion for _and then what?_

"Uhhh, we talked a little bit? Amd then we made arrangements for Blizzards at DQ on Saturday."

"Upcoming Saturday or last Saturday?"

"Last one."

"And how'd it go?"

"Oh," Patroclus looks sheepish. "I had to cancel."

_"What?_

"Yeah. The football team called celebratory lunch, and so I cancelled on Achilles."

Briseis folds her arms and raises her eyebrows. "You're kidding." At the shake of Patroclus' head, she continues. "You _know_ how, like, posessive he can be. And I'm pretty sure you two haven't been talking too much recently."

"I don't know, I mean, should I really be encouraging his posessiveness if it's that bad? Maybe he should find some other friends to hang with, since we'll probably not go to the same college and all."

"Don't be a _dumbass_. Achilles just wants to spend time with you! I don't mean to exaggerate, but he could have any friend he wanted. But he trusts you, and to a very slightly smaller extent, me, and I don't think you should fuck it up."

"...Honestly, you're right, but from here, how do I, like, make it good again? Do I talk to him like I wasn't a bit of a dick and pretend nothing happened, or do I beg for forgiveness, or what?"

"What'd you do last time?"

"Huh?" Patroclus wrinkled his nose.

"You said you talked to him a bit on Friday. How'd you go about it then, and how did Achilles react?"

"Well, he was a little bit cold towards me, but I didn't really mention anything about essentially ditching him, so..."

"Try the other route," suggested Briseis. "Achilles can be passive-aggressive, so being blunt will probably be the best way to get him to be open too."

"That's...a great idea. Thanks. For, y'know, helping me deal with this."

Briseis glanced at the clock and proceeded to double-take. "Crap, I don't wanna be late, so excuse me!" she exclaimed, her heavy backpack bouncing on her shoulders as she headed quickly to her next class. She called over her shoulder, "See you!"

x

Diomedes is trying his very hardest to be careful.

"You--uhhh, you're sure that you're okay with Patroclus coming to our lunch?"

"Yes," Achilles hisses, keeping his head resolutely faced towards the front of the room. "I am sure."

"Well, okay. It just seems kinda shitty. I mean, we didn't know we had stolen Pat until he told us at the lunch, but like, still."

"I do not _own_ Patroclus. He can do whatever he likes."

Being careful is not in Diomedes' nature. He remembers exactly one time he tried being cautious, which ended in a stern talking-to from the coach and a no-holds-barred game that put him on a lot of scouting lists. As a general rule, Diomedes avoids being cautious. There are, however, exceptions to every rule. Right now, with a sullen Achilles, for instance.

He returns his own gaze to the teacher, who lectures about the schools of thought. Kids are taking notes, and Diomedes thinks that maybe that might be a good idea, so he opens his own notebook and tries to listen.

"And besides," continues Achilles, out of nowhere, "I would've had to cancel anyways. I had a dentist appointment."

Achilles' teeth are as shiny and straight as a toothpaste commercial. Diomedes is sure that the runner had starred in a few when he was younger, too. "Why?" asks Diomedes. 

"Because I have _teeth,_ Diomedes," retorts Achilles. It's loud enough for the entire class to hear, and the teacher stops talking for a moment to isolate whoever spoke out of turn. On seeing that it's Achilles, though, he goes back hurriedly to his lesson, and Achilles falls once more into stony silence. Diomedes apologizes after a moment. The runner slumps a bit, which is how Diomedes knows his apology has been accepted. They put their pencils to their books, Achilles' strokes rendering angry scratches of notes while Diomedes doodles; a shark with sunglasses surfing, a very amateurish picture of a pro athlete, a perfectly scaled football field. 

Outside, as if in response to the golden boy's bad mood, the thick cumulus clouds gather into a grey, amorphous mass and it starts to rain. Practice for every fall sport--volleyball, basketball, football, cross country--will be inside today, at the expense of the teachers whose halls the runners will be trampling through, or who'll be disturbed by the shrieking of the football coaches.

x

_It's easy, yeah, to forget how strong emotions can be when they only filter through interactions, and when they are not acted upon. And Achilles tries to remember this, but it's almost paradoxical in nature. And I too can only just recollect the pride, the want for acceptance. That hope._

Achilles wants to go home immediately after practice. If he could, he would run, but the heavy backpack renders this an irresponsible choice. Nonetheless, a short car ride is all that it takes, and a scenic one it is, filled with oak and maple and mountain ash trees, the last of whose fiery red berries are finally starting to dry and litter the pavement. When fall properly hits, leaves will clog the gutters of transportation. 

Right now, though, there are plenty of other people walking or running. They all know Achilles, even his car, by word of mouth or on the news. Achilles, on the other hand, doesn't recognize them, doesn't know who they are, so he keeps his chin up and eyes ahead on the road, and in return the passersby avert their gaze just as they do at school.

His home is only a few blocks away, but he turns off onto a side street and from there navigates his way to the public library. 

Unlike Briseis, Achilles isn't most at ease amongst books. He doesn't particularly care for the must of an old paperback, or thin pages beneath his fingers. If he wants books, he'll buy them. Briseis argues that there's more to the experience than the text on the pages, and she must believe it or, more likely, it's actually true and Achilles is missing out, because Briseis spends all of her free time at the library. But on Mondays, Briseis had a club meeting right after school. He'll have the place to himself, if still surrounded by college students and older folk. 

True to his predictions, the only sounds at the library are the soft clacks of keyboards and the rustling of paper. Occasionally, the scanners make beeping noises as librarians check books out for patrons, and the automated door whooshes closed slowly behind Achilles. It's the perfect place for getting away from nearly everyone he knows, because almost no one on any of the sports teams, his main source of acquaintances, would be caught dead in a place of learning and academic knowledge voluntarily. 

So he settles down at one of the tables and opens his backpack, pulling out his math textbook and some paper and retrieving a pencil. The atmosphere is peaceful and silent, but not still, unlike his house, which is ear-piercingly flat. Around him Achilles can still sense movement. He falls into the monotony of problem-solving and loses track of the time he spends there, until someone thunks their books right across from him. 

It's Patroclus.

"Can I sit here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any and all feedback is appreciated; hopefully the fourth will be up sooner than this one was haha ;)


	4. Forget Not the Legendary Space Jam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at this point i'm sort of chuckin in geographically semi-relevant locations as schools jdjf  
> also idk but i just think about blizzards a lot, they remind me of elementary school and stuff

_There are some films so integrated into the high school experience that it's almost like another curriculum, one whose failure's consequences is the inability to understand the many references on t-shirts and in conversations. I've still got a ways to go; I've completed most of the science fiction and fantasy but there's an entire collection of John Hughes and sports movies and horror and other films I have to watch. I don't mind, though. There's time to spare, and unlike the kids, I'm just playing for kicks._

Student government meetings are conducted in the cafeteria during eighth period once a month or whenever the administrator can find ample cause to hold one. A gathering of students from all four years, many of whom have been in student government their entire high school careers or definitely will be, sit at the long tables and crane their necks whenever someone speaks. 

"So the homecoming theme this year," starts off Briseis in her role as Student Body President, "Is heroes." She had won by an overwhelming majority, even considering the number of fill-in votes for Achilles, who was a Senior Class Representative. "Freshmen have chosen the Transformers, Sophomores have chosen the Justice League, Juniors have the--" she squints at her notebook, trying to decipher the theme. It is written, as always, in her neat print, but she speaks English, not Ancient Geek. "--Lantern Corps? Is that right?"

Some junior nods. A sophomore whispers to his friend, "I thought it was called the _Green_ Lanterns."

Another junior overhears and stands up forcefully. "It's an emotional spectrum, man! Not just green! It encompasses more than just green!"

"Okay, sit down," Briseis makes a lowering motion with her hands. "And seniors have the Avengers. Sound good?"

General assent comes from the representatives.

"Great. We'll start decorating our halls next Monday, and float-building begins two weeks after that, which gives the classes three weeks to find a trailer and a driver for their floats. That's kind of a ridiculous amount of time, so please remember to find those things! I think that's all, so if you want to break off and have class meetings, now is the time."

Class discussion is frankly rather boring. Achilles isn't invested in this. He slouches and plays with the hair ties around his wrist and thinks. About Monday at the library.

x

_Like, two days earlier or so, give or take. This is all pretty new to Achilles so cut him some slack, give him time._

Achilles slowly clears his own books to the side to make room. "Yeah, sure." He stares for a moment. "Uh, how did you know I was here?"

"I actually come here after school some days," Patroclus says, "to study. I wasn't planning to today, but I saw your car in the lot as I drove by."

Nodding once to signal that he's heard, Achilles continues his work.

Patroclus clears his throat.

Looking up, Achilles asks, "What?" At this point, he's not mad, really, just tired. He's never been this tired before. 

"I'm sorry. For yankin' you around like that." He rubs the back of his neck, math homework still untouched. "I know I've been...distant the past few weeks, and to tell you the truth, I'm not even sure why other than a gut feeling."

 _"A gut feeling."_ Achilles finally snaps closed his own textbook. "A gut feeling told you to quit your best friend cold turkey and leave him hanging." His tone is mocking, skeptical. He can be like this sometimes, cold and vindictive, but Patroclus knows him well enough to amend his earlier statement.

"I meant that it was dumb of me, you know? Like, a really bad decision. It was only two weeks but it was damn awful and I won't do it again."

Behind the checkout desk, Achilles can spy one librarian glancing at them with what appears to be interest and another one glowering. He lowers his voice to reply, "It was. Dumb, I mean. And not just two weeks but two weeks and a whole summer, so. But whatever."

"Ah, geez." The return of the sheepish neck-scratch. "Yeah, you're right. I'm really sorry, I just--yeah. I'm really sorry."

For a moment, Achilles sizes him up. He doesn't try to hide the calculations he's making, doesn't hide it under a cheerful veneer. Everything about Achilles is in the open, so Pat tries to do the same in return: acknowledging his fuck-up and the reasons behind it. He tries to communicate that his intentions weren't bad, and that he really wants to repair the damage he has wrought in a fairly short space of time. And that if Achilles wants, Patroclus can start by getting them Blizzards, his treat.

Achilles offers his fist for a bump.

"Yes!" hisses Patroclus, clenching one fist in self-congratulation and returning Achilles' bump with the other. "Blizzards, Friday after the game, my treat!"

"I know," Achilles smiles wryly.

x

Friday is tomorrow, Achilles thinks absently while keeping his pace abput twice to three times as fast as every other athlete on the cross-country team. Tomorrow. Maybe he should pick an outfit? Why should he do that, though? He's got plenty of time in the mornings to do that. And why should it matter, anyways? No, no outfit. A hat, though. He wants to wear a hat. Definitely. Which one? His Quick hat. He'll wear it to the game. Why does he care so much? 

Doesn't matter. Saturday is his first meet. Achilles has to get home soon after Blizzards, or else he'll be ridiculously tired on the bus ride. All the while, his legs take long strides, feet pounding softly as he pushes on and on until he can't even see his normal stopping point anymore. 

Regaining awareness of this, Achilles stops in his tracks. It's the edge of town. The roads are completely empty, but there are some cars further in, parked at the mechanic shops and antique stores that decorate the outer fringes of the his city.

He feels a piercing loneliness all of a sudden, a sense that if he were to just keep running right on out of town, no one would really _care_.

But that's absurd. He's Achilles, champion runner and athlete extraordinaire, and the pride of the city. On Saturday, half of the population will come to watch him run, and the numbers rack up even further towards the end of the season. So it's chill. 

x

Upon arrival back at his house, Achilles showers. Toweling off his hair, Achilles' previously glum mood spurs him on to pull out a pair of headphones and scroll through his iTunes playlists until he finds the absolutely perfect one and smiles.

On any other day, Achilles would be inclined towards some mournful R'n'B type playlist to validate his bad mood, but he needs to be _happy_ for the next few days. So the list pulled up is instead a collection of all of his favorite songs from elementary school--things from Queen to Lil Wayne and Kanye and every catchy pop song from that era. When he clicks the Shuffle button, he listens to each song, and repeats the playlist. 

Sprawled on his bed, hair still damp, Achilles remembers what everyone likes to fondly term 'simpler times'. It's not wrong. And if he falls asleep to the sound of "Get Low", what's that to a city who loves him?

x

Everything is great. Holy shit, wow, things haven't been this good in a long time. Achilles feels like he's filled to the brim and at any second, wine will overflow.

It might be the sugar. The cotton candy Blizzard in his hand probably contains enough to be fought over and sold for a ridiculous price in 1500s Europe. The DQ is pretty packed. Plenty of kids come down after any game, and even more so when Achaea wins. And _boy,_ did Patroclus and Odysseus and Diomedes and the rest of the team win. It was almost painful, watching the other team being stomped into the ground in such a relentless fashion. 

Patroclus sits across from him, and every now and then another chick in the restaurant will make googly eyes at him or come over and fist bump him and congratulate him. At first, Achilles was irritated, wanted Patroclus' full attention, but sugar heals all wounds. Conversation flows naturally and smoothly between the two of them, like the little hiatus that caused so much trouble never even existed.

"So, Mr. Hotshot Football-Man," Achilles raises his eyebrows and smirks at Patroclus. "What's it feel like to completely _own_ Macedon?"

They're sitting across from one another in a booth and they each have their legs up on the opposite seat, resting their feet on vinyl. Patroclus shifts his so that they rest on Achilles' (admittedly overpriced) jeans. Achilles pinches Patroclus' shin absently, and the football player yelps before replying. "Pretty damn good, I gotta tell you. Last year? They kind of owned _us_ and even Odysseus was pissed about it. Like, they had this offensive play, and I mean, it's not too hard to figure it out? But their execution--god _damn_ , Achilles. I might be on Achaea's team but it was quite a play." He launches into some technical football jargon that Achilles boils down to _play good, hard to block_. It's fun to observe Patroclus' exictement when talking about football. By this time, most other patrons sense that they're deep in conversation and don't come over. And lo, Achilles gets Patroclus all to himself. 

The end of the night sees Patroclus giving Achilles a ride again. Achilles accepts readily this time around.

"Your meet, right? It's tomorrow?"

"Hmm?" Just getting out of the truck, Achilles turns back for a moment. The lights in his house are still on but only the lower ones, indicating that his father is in the study. If he's lucky, Achilles can maybe sneak in without alerting Peleus and head up to his room to watch a couple nutrition videos before bed. "Oh, yeah. The, uh, Central Park. In Sparta."

"Oh, gotcha," Patroclus grins. "See you there. Uh, good luck?"

"Thanks, that would be great. If you can't make it, that's totally fine, Sparta's a pretty long drive."

"What? No way, bro, I'll definitely make it. Just you wait."

Achilles laughs fondly. "Okay, Hotshot. See you later. Don't party too hard, you've got an early morning ahead if you wanna come to the meet."

"Aye-aye, captain," Patrclus gives a small salute as he pulls out of the driveway. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

As it would happen, Peleus does catch Achilles trying to sneak in. He's not mad though, but undeniably tired. Achilles hugs his father and tells him good night. Peleus wraps the limp arm not clutching desperately to coffee around his son and wishes him good luck, but says that he won't be able to come to the meet because _insert diplomat thing here_. Achilles tells him that it's fine, and to go to sleep soon.

x

Patroclus does end up being late.

He shows up when the last of the runners has completed their second lap round the park, but already Patroclus spies a head of golden hair rounding the bend and approaching at light speed among the evergreen trees. Bouncing on his heels, Patroclus waves hi when Achilles lopes on by, and though he didn't expect a response, he receives a brief flash of teeth. He stands for another six minutes and twenty-three-point-four seconds, until Achilles bounds up to him, flushed in the face but still somehow looking impeccable.

"Hey," greets the runner, slinging a damp arm over Patroclus' shoulder. "You showed up."

Out of the corner of his eye Patroclus can see Coach Nestor motioning to Achilles. Looking back to the boy, he grins and bats away the sweaty arm. "Get your stinky limb off me, you loser. Nestor wants you over there."

Achilles shakes Patroclus one last time, then lets go. "He just wants to give me my ribbon," he explained. "You can come over with me if you want." Obligingly, Patroclus follows a few steps behind, observing how all the parents and other kids nod repectfully as he passes by, with even the opposition in awe. Achilles slows down to hang back and elaborate to Patroclus, "I broke a record." He mentions it casually, but Patroclus can sense the legitimate excitement. 

"Hey, you wanna ride back with me? We can stop by the gas station and pick up junk food and shit," he suggests.

"Well...I'm not quite yet eighteen, and you're not my parent or guardian, but I _think_ I might be able to get Coach to bend the rules this one time. Since I did so well, and everything. And only if we stop at McDonald's on the way back too."

Patroclus ruffles his friend, his _best_ friend's hair. "If you say so, champ."

Patting a few stray hairs back into place in a somehow still-perfect ponytail, Achilles screws up his face in distaste. "Don't call me that, it makes me feel like I'm ten."

Nestor offers the barest hint of a complaint, giving in quickly to his star's wishes. Most people couldn't fathom thinking of Achilles as their child--he can be too _much_ , in the same way that flavors can pile up and overwhelm a dish if they're not cohesive or prestigious distinctions cause stress sometimes. But Nestor, Nestor has been there since the fourth grade when he saw the kid in the park running circles around his parents, during the divorce, since the first meet in middle school and every single one since then. He's been there with Achilles, and Achilles will miss him desperately next year.

The ride back is fun. They bump old Odd Future songs and tunes that were popular in middle school, as per Achilles' new favorite playlist. There's a short-lived game of I Spy that ends when neither of them can think of objects other than 'grass', 'road', or 'sky'. At a gas station in the middle of the flat, dry landscape, they grab Twinkies and a packet of grape Big League Chew, both of which they finish within half an hour. 

A few stray yellow leaves fluttering across Achilles' driveway herald the coming of true Sweater Weather. Stepping out of the cab, Achilles hoists his duffel bag over his shoulder and fishes his key out of his pocket, because it doesn't much look like his father is awake.

"Come to the party after the game on Friday?"

No matter how re-formative these last few days have been, Patroclus and Achilles are still at that stage of friendship where they have to make plans together at least four nights before the actual occasion.

"Deal." Achilles reaches back and shakes on it, then disappears into the bowels of his house. 

This is progess, thinks Patroclus. This can be just as good as it was before.

x

_Sometimes I forget what it's like to be young and nervous, with gold coursing through my veins when I see him even as I do not acknowledge it. Sometimes I cannot help but remember, because I'll have a million more years before I see him again and hold him tightly once more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [youtuber voice] thanks for watching guys don't forget to like and subscribe because i update super randomly and infrequently xoxo
> 
> [but like, jokes aside, seriously thank y'all for the support :)]


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